


A Million Gifts

by qwertybob



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Boys In Love, Boys Kissing, Fluff, M/M, Post-The Raven King, Romance, The Raven King Spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-20
Updated: 2016-06-23
Packaged: 2018-07-16 05:39:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7254676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/qwertybob/pseuds/qwertybob
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of short fics on how the Lynch-Parrish family show how much they care by giving each other gifts. Shamelessly Ronan-centric. (But will eventually explore other POVs.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Waterproof

**Author's Note:**

> I just started writing these little scenes and now I can't stop. I will probably end up posting some non-Pynch scenes as well, with other members of the Gangsey, but for now, it's all going to be Pynch. Let's be honest, it's just plotless fluff because I am Pynch trash.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Ronan gives Adam a new watch.

Two weeks after Cabeswater gave Gansey another life, Ronan decided he needed to dream Adam a new watch. Opal had offered the shabby leather strap back to Adam on plenty occasions since he’d placed it on her wrist, but Adam always refused, smiling gently at her and ruffling her hair in a way that made Ronan’s chest stop doing the things chests were supposed to do. Like breathing, keeping his heart contained inside his ribcage, preventing his gut from knotting itself into oblivion—non-essential things like that.

The next morning, Ronan woke up, paralyzed from bringing something back, with Adam’s sleeping body next to him. His heavy arm was draped across Ronan’s chest, his tan skin freckled and curved with muscles that Ronan had to skim his fingers over as soon as the feeling returned to his body. Curled next to Ronan’s collarbone was Adam’s hand, a loose fist with his short nails resting against Ronan’s skin. Ronan looked at the pale strip of skin on Adam's wrist where his watch used to be, and gently lifted it to place the dream watch in its place.

It was exactly as he knew it would be: simple dark leather strap that would never chafe no matter how hot or wet the weather, elegant clock face lined with gold that was subtle and not overwhelming, beautiful but not in an obvious way, worn enough to not look new, but new enough to not look shabby. It suggested it knew its roots, but always had room to grow.

Ronan snorted softly to himself as he stared at the ceiling. He was dreaming up watches that were metaphorically representative of Adam now. That was where this relationship was headed—straight into Parrish-obsessed territory. Not that Ronan wasn't already there, but now he was building houses on the sturdy foundation and didn't plan on leaving.

Would Adam even accept it? Ronan believed he would, but as Adam stirred awake, groaning and scrunching his eyes against the pillow, panic welled up in Ronan’s chest and he pulled himself out of bed. He didn't bother being careful since Adam was already waking anyway, and he didn't dare look at Adam’s exposed back as his t-shirt had bunched up around his armpits as he escaped to the bathroom.

It was possible Adam would love the watch and Ronan was missing out on a spectacular make-out session as he jumped into a cold shower, but he was also sort of a coward. He would rather let Adam find the watch without any pressure to react with Ronan watching him.

He stood in the shower, not moving even as the water turned warm, and flinched when the door opened. He heard Adam yawn, the pad of his feet against the tile floor and the sound of the toilet lid opening as Adam took a piss.

“Don’t you fucking _think_ about flushing,” Ronan said before the tension burned his insides to ash.

Was Adam even awake enough to notice? Damn it, Ronan should have left the watch in Adam's car later before he went to work so he would find it when Ronan was surely not around. What if Adam went the entire morning not noticing, and then while they were eating lunch or whatever, he looked down and saw it and then Ronan would have to stammer through an explanation—

Adam flushed the toilet.

“Fucking hell, Parrish!” Ronan said, scrambling out of the scalding hot water as Adam laughed. “Fucking asshole,” he hissed with his face pressed to the translucent shower curtain to avoid being burned as Adam continued to laugh. He could see Adam’s outline through the flimsy material, and swallowed thickly as Adam pulled off his shirt and dropped his boxers to the floor.

“Hey, Lynch,” Adam said softly, stepping closer to the shower and pausing just outside the curtain, stark naked.

“What the fuck do you want now? Jesus.”

“Is this thing waterproof?”

Ronan closed his eyes and gripped the curtain tightly in one of his hands. The water was back to a normal temperature now, but he preferred to stay in the cold air to help him focus. Yes, the watch was waterproof. It was also stain- and wear-proof, specifically grease-proof so he could wear it to Boyd’s and not have to take it off while he was working. “Probably, the fuck if I know.”

Adam pulled the curtain back and Ronan froze, neither of them bothering to cover up. Instead, Ronan crossed his arms over his chest and scowled lightly. Adam laughed breathlessly, hair all mused from sleep. His eyes stealthily roamed around Ronan’s body, which Ronan pretended didn’t do anything to his malfunctioning chest at all. Adam stuck his non-watch hand into the water. “Why are you still over there? The water's fine now.”

Ronan glared. “My skin is fucking delicate, Parrish.”

Adam bit down a smirk. “Can I come in?”

“Shoulda thought about that before you flushed the toilet.”

The smirk escaped Adam's control. “Ronan, you’re wasting water. I’m coming in.” He started to take off his watch to put it aside, but Ronan stepped into the stream of water and uncrossed one of his arms.

“It’s waterproof. You don’t have to take it off.”

Adam looked up and pulled the strap tight against his wrist again, familiar, like he had been wearing it for years instead of just minutes. Ronan felt like the steam from the water was getting stuck in his throat. Wasn’t steam supposed to do the opposite, or whatever? Open up all your sinuses, or some shit? Useless. 

Adam stepped inside the shower and wasted no time pressing his warm body against Ronan’s. Ronan tried to stifle a moan, but the water was too hot, Adam was even hotter, and when wet skin slid against wet skin, there was no helping the sound escaping his throat.

Adam kissed his neck, ran his tongue along Ronan’s pulse point. Though he was too lost in pleasure and heat and steam to remember his name, Ronan still knew what Adam was doing. Checking that the bruises the demon had left against Ronan’s neck were no longer visible, and trying to replace any memory of Adam's hands wrapped around his throat with heated kisses instead.

“Adam,” Ronan said, pulling on Adam’s arms gently. “They’re gone, all right? Stop ruining the moment, for fuck's sake.”

Adam sucked on the sensitive skin just below Ronan's jaw and Ronan held on to Adam's hips to keep from falling. “Just making sure.”

Adam wrapped his arms around Ronan’s neck and held their chests together under the stream of the shower. Ronan could feel the press of leather against his shoulder blade, and he wrapped his arms around Adam’s back so that Adam could feel the press of Ronan’s leather bracelets against his skin as well. With a wild and electric jolt in his veins, Ronan realized why the dark leather band of Adam’s watch had felt so familiar and worn—it was the same leather as Ronan’s bracelets. He hadn’t meant to dream it like that, but now that he knew he had, he couldn’t stop wondering what Adam would think about it...would he even notice?

“Thanks,” Adam said softly against Ronan’s shoulder. “For the watch. I like it. A lot.”

Ronan dropped his face to Adam's shoulder and pressed his mouth there. “We’re wasting water, Parrish.”

Adam snorted and pulled back, but only so he could kiss Ronan again. Ronan dragged his hands up Adam’s body, lost in the sensation of his slick, hot skin, until he curled his hands into Adam’s wet hair. Adam groaned and pushed him back against the tile wall, their feet squeaking against the floor. Ronan laughed into Adam’s mouth and Adam pressed into him more firmly until Ronan’s laugh turned into a heady pant.

“Water,” Adam muttered against Ronan’s chin, moving urgently along Ronan’s jaw, his short breaths like burning steam against Ronan’s delicate skin. “Wasting—” a sharp inhale, “—water.”

“Who the fuck cares,” Ronan breathed back before pulling Adam back up to his mouth.

Ronan wanted to tell Adam that the watch was not only waterproof, but that he'd never have to wind it or change the battery, and there was this button on the buckle that he could press if he was ever in trouble and couldn't get to his phone.

But there would be time to tell Adam all of that later. They were wasting water after all.

They took a suspiciously long shower.


	2. A Mismatch of Parts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Opal and Adam give Ronan some new ink.

Ronan had to clean out one of the barns while Adam was at work. Opal had helped for a bit, shucking out the old hay, reorganizing the tools, replacing some broken panels in the wall, but soon got bored and had retreated inside hours ago. When Ronan was finally finished, smelling like shit and sweat and agriculture, the Hondoyota was already parked beside the BMW. Ronan’s heart jumped and faltered, just like the engine of the tri-colored shitbox—a mismatch of parts hastily thrown together just well enough that you could turn it on, but frequently prone to malfunction.

Ronan heard Adam laugh from the kitchen with Opal, and desperately wanted to run in there to ask the mechanic what was wrong with the hastily-thrown-together parts of his heart, but he knew Opal would refuse to let him with them smelling like this. So Ronan ran up the stairs, jumped into the shower and changed into clean clothes before bolting back downstairs.

Opal and Adam were drawing at the kitchen table with black permanent markers. There were a few drawings of Ronan, Adam and Opal in ridiculous situations drawn in Opal’s impressively astute hand—Ronan wearing an apron but somehow covered in a failed kitchen experiment anyway while Adam laughed at him; Ronan riding a tractor with a full beard riddled with leaves, and a nose that distinctly looked like a pig’s; Ronan sleeping on the couch with his mouth hanging open while Opal, Adam and Chainsaw dropped things into it. Opal cackled when Ronan—the real one—picked up a picture of him wearing a ridiculous shark costume as he danced the disco. Opal was the DJ, Chainsaw was perched on the disco ball, and Adam was wearing a giraffe costume—get it, because he has a lot of brown spots—as he danced beside Ronan.

“Really?” Ronan muttered, flicking the side of Opal’s head. She laughed cheerily and Ronan smirked back at her. He picked up the picture of him sleeping on the couch with the three devils tossing things into his mouth, and put it on the fridge with a magnet. “This looks nothing like me.”

“Actually, the pig-nose one is extremely accurate,” Adam muttered in concentration as he leaned over his own drawing. Ronan peeked over his shoulder and saw the straight, mathematical lines, the steady hand and proper proportions of what was clearly the Barns. Adam wasn’t an artist—his pen strokes were far too precise and mechanical to be considered artistic—but he was still good at drawing because Adam excelled at anything he put his mind to. It made Ronan physically sick with affection. Despite the strict lines and too-perfect proportions of Adam's picture that made it less like art and more like a blueprint, there was still something beautiful about the plainness. He had somehow captured some essence of the Barns that Ronan wouldn’t have thought possible with such harsh lines.

Stability, Ronan decided. That was what Adam had captured. A sturdy home, capable of weathering any storm.

“You messed up there—that’s not what the door looks like.”

Adam swatted away Ronan's finger. Ronan poked him in the cheek. Adam knocked his bony-ass knee into Ronan's thigh.

“Leave him alone,” Opal hissed at Ronan. “He’s working.”

Ronan snorted. “It's not like he's Michelangelo or something.”

When he was finished, Adam tilted his head to the side, appraising his drawing before holding it up to Opal. “Well?”

Opal tilted her head to the side just like Adam had, tapped a finger on her chin and scowled lightly as if trying to play it cool. Ronan snorted and Adam glanced at him, keeping his amused smirk hidden behind a look of concern that Opal might deem it a failure.

Opal nodded once. “A+.” She took Adam’s drawing of the Barns and put it on the fridge next to hers. Ronan noticed there were three deer drawn off to the side and three silhouetted figures sitting on the porch swing, the smaller one sandwiched between the bigger two. Ronan’s tri-colored shitbox engine-heart gave another pathetic stutter inside his chest.

“A+? What—was this some sort of assignment?” Ronan asked Adam, who shrugged and smiled. “Jesus, no wonder you took it so seriously.”

Adam threw the marker at Ronan’s head, who was too slow to move out of the way. It hit his forehead and fell into his lap. Adam mouthed a curse at Ronan so Opal wouldn’t hear it and Ronan stuck his middle finger at him in return. Adam grabbed at it and used it as an excuse to pull their hands together. Ronan tried not to be pleased by this unexpected turn of events.

“What was the assignment then?” Ronan asked Opal. “Draw an inaccurate set of blueprints?”

Adam picked up the marker from Ronan’s lap and threw it at his head again. Ronan was still too slow to move out of the way. Adam smirked and rubbed his thumb into the back of Ronan's hand, effectively quelling all of Ronan's intentions for starting a marker-throwing war.

Opal looked at her drawing next to Adam’s, smiling softly. “Draw something that makes you happy.”

Ronan looked at Adam, who was looking back, and Ronan’s heart failed with a sputtering sigh. He tried turning the key in the ignition, but his engine-heart just kept rolling over and over and over like a useless heap of metal with too many mismatched pieces thrown hastily together. Frequently prone to malfunction.

Adam smiled and squeezed his hand, and the engine-heart in Ronan’s chest roared to life.

“New assignment,” Opal said, grabbing Ronan’s free hand. Her marker was poised against his skin, and before he could yell an adamant NO, she was already drawing all over his arm.

“You brat. I just showered,” he said, but smiled at the look of glee on Opal's face as she doodled along his skin, taking care to avoid the bracelets on his wrists. He felt the soft press of a marker tip on his other arm and he turned sharply towards it as Adam pulled his other arm straight. “No fuc—no way, Parrish. Not you, too.”

Adam was holding the marker cap in his mouth, bent over Ronan’s arm like it was a textbook to be studied. Opal was just drawing random paths that suited her fancy, but Adam took more care. He drew soft curves, sharp claws and long, winding lines that the women of 300 Fox Way would have looked at and said, _You will be lucky in love_.

“It’s an assignment, Lynch,” Adam said, glancing up at Ronan with a solemn frown that told Ronan he was enjoying the hell out of himself. “Gotta take it seriously.”

Ronan smiled and leaned his head back as Chainsaw flew over from her perch to watch Opal and Adam draw all over his arms. Ronan's engine-heart hummed steadily and surely in his malfunctioning chest. Frequently prone to malfunction, but a wonderful collection of parts—one for every significant person who had a claim to his heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is super fucking sappy, and I'm not sorry.


	3. Leather and Beads

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Ronan and Opal give Adam bracelets.

"Jesus fucking Christ, what the fuck happened to you?"

Declan grabbed Ronan's wrist and turned his arm over, smirking at the black lines still drawn all over his arms. Matthew grabbed Ronan's other wrist and started tracing over the lines that Opal had drawn with his finger. Ronan yanked both his arms from his brothers' grip. “Fuck off, Declan. Matthew, take off your shoes.”

Declan shrugged, the amused smirk still on his face. “Is it permanent?”

Matthew laughed. Ronan glared.

“The fuck do you take me for?”

“What? This is much nicer to look at than the monstrosity on your back.” Declan poked Ronan's bicep where Adam had drawn a horrendous caricature of Ronan's face, grotesque and incredibly offensive. There may have been a pig nose. “This one is certainly better than the original.”

Ronan knocked Declan's hand aside as Matthew threw off his shoes and ran into the house, shouting for Opal to come out.

It was Opal's birthday (a mutually agreed upon date by Ronan and Opal, instead of the day he actually brought her out of a dream), and everyone was over at the Barns to celebrate. Henry had cooked some sort of Korean-Chinese hybrid of a meal (which meant that he bought a shit ton of Asian food and mixed them on plates together). Ronan had bought a cake and tons of junk food that looked like leaves and sticks so Opal would at least be tempted to try it.

“Where's Parrish? I mentioned him to a few people in DC and they're interested in talking to him about internships.”

Ronan wasn't sure what to think about this developing relationship between Declan and Adam that seemed to go beyond the requirements of the Brother and the Boyfriend, but he figured it was better than the alternative. He had gotten so used to fighting with Declan about every little thing that it felt wrong and foreign to not be fighting about something as significant as Adam Parrish.

“Work. He'll be back later.”

When Gansey and Blue arrived, the party began and Opal managed to eat some of the foods that were brown and chewy. She made it halfway through the happy birthday song before sticking her hand in the cake. She swatted at RoboBee, ran around the yard with Matthew, opened her presents and passed out on the couch beside Ronan before the night was finished.

They all sat around the fire after Declan and Matthew said goodnight and went upstairs to sleep. Adam came home an hour later, visibly tired like an extra layer of clothes over his uniform. He quickly said hi to everyone, kissed Opal and Ronan on the head, and disappeared to shower. When he retuned soon after, his hair was damp and he wore one of Ronan's old shirts and a pair of ratty sweats. Ronan tried not to stare.

Adam sat next to Ronan on the couch, thighs pressed against thighs, shoulders pressed against shoulders. He snaked his arm beneath Ronan's and held his hand, leaning his head back against the couch, turned slightly in Ronan's direction.

Opal, though she had slept through hours of Cheng's obnoxious laughter, roused from her slumber and crawled over Ronan's lap—goddamn it, Opal, your _hooves_ —to get to Adam. She curled up beside him on the couch, resting her head in his lap as he laughed a bit breathlessly, like he was still surprised that Opal would pick him over Ronan. Ronan rolled his eyes, pretending to be offended by her choice, but he wasn't fooling anyone.

Adam tentatively ran his fingers through Opal's hair, but she was already asleep, curled up in Adam's lap. When Gansey returned from the bathroom, he greeted Adam with a hushed whisper and a fist bump before tossing a blanket over Opal's sleeping figure. He returned to Henry and Blue in front of the fire to discuss some details about their trip, leaving Ronan and Adam alone, squished together on a disproportionately small portion of the couch.

“Hey,” Adam said, leaning his chin against Ronan's shoulder, thumb skimming over the back of Ronan's hand. He spoke quietly so not to wake Opal, but now that she had found her pillow, Ronan doubted she'd be waking anytime soon.

“Hey,” Ronan said back, turning his head minutely to rest his lips against Adam's forehead.

“Sorry I'm late. Was she mad?”

Ronan scoffed. “She never wants to speak to you again, Parrish. You broke her fragile heart.”

Adam ran his hand through Opal's hair again. “I tried to get home early—”

“Don't make it a big deal. I explained where you were and she understood. The end.”

Adam exhaled heavily, his thumb moving absently across Ronan's hand. Ronan looked at their intertwined fingers. Adam's hands were red from scrubbing the grease off, so Ronan lifted their hands and kissed Adam's knuckle before letting them fall back down into the valley between their legs. Adam unlaced their fingers and lay Ronan's palm out against his leg. His fingers traced the lines gently. Ronan felt his breathing catch as Adam moved up Ronan's wrist, past the bracelets to the dark lines Opal had drawn on his skin.

Adam laughed, a single quiet exhale as his fingers curled around Ronan's arm. “Jesus Christ, Lynch. Take a shower. It's been two days.”

“I'm a work of art, man. Would you throw the Mona Lisa into the shower?”

“The Mona Lisa doesn't smell like shit.”

“I don't see you complaining about my shitty smell. In fact, I'm pretty sure you like it.”

Adam snorted, but pressed his nose against Ronan's shoulder anyway. “The fuck I do.”

Ronan grinned. He wanted to wrap his arm around Adam's shoulders and push Adam's face into his armpit, but Adam would probably break up with him. Besides, Adam's fingers were moving along his arm again, and it was too good a feeling to give up.

“What happened to the last one?” Adam asked, fingers tangling themselves through the leather bracelets, separating out the four remaining bands. He pressed the pads of his fingers against the skin beneath, untouched by Opal's markings.

“The brat wanted it for her birthday present.”

Adam turned his face to look at Opal, and indeed, wrapped twice around her small bony wrist was one of Ronan's bracelets, right next to Adam's old watch, along with at least three more beaded bracelets of bright colors.

“Blue got her a bracelet-making kit,” Ronan explained and lifted his right arm that Adam couldn't see. There, along Ronan's wrist were at least five different colored bracelets that were laughably opposite to the leather ones on his other arm. “She got carried away.”

Adam muffled his laugh against Ronan's shoulder.

“Don't laugh, she made you a pile that was bigger than the rest of ours. She will expect you to wear at least one of them everyday.”

Adam looked overwhelmingly pleased and lifted his head so he could look down at Opal. “Of course I will,” he said to her, even though she was sleeping and couldn't hear him.

Adam looked at Ronan, gaze roaming his face, fingers still tangled in Ronan's bracelets. Ronan felt the words at the tip of his tongue, threatening to launch themselves off the cliff of his lips. “Parrish.”

“Lynch.”

Ronan's head turned at the sound of a fake camera shutter going off from the opposite side of the room. Heart racing from the electric potential of that moment, he found Blue’s grinning face. She had her fingers in the air around a fake camera held to her eye. Taking a fake picture of Adam playing with Ronan’s bracelets, and of Ronan watching Adam, and of Opal curled in Adam's lap. The moment when Ronan almost told Adam what he felt.

Ronan tried to be annoyed that she had interrupted, but he was relieved that she had. This was hardly the time for such words.

“I can dream you a real camera right here, Sargent, if you’re really that desperate.”

Blue’s grin only grew as she cocked her head to the side. “But would you show up on film, Ronan? You know, the thing with vampires, and all that.”

Adam snorted. Ronan rolled his eyes. Adam lifted their hands and kissed Ronan's wrist, pretending to bite. Blue laughed. Ronan blushed and shoved Adam over—not too hard so he didn't jostle Opal, but enough to express the sentiment _Fuck you_. Adam bounced right back and held Ronan’s hand tightly, turning his fake-biting to Ronan's shoulder instead.

“A vampire is not creative enough, Blue,” Henry chimed in. “Lynch is more like a werewolf stuck in a vampire's body. A hybrid monster.”

“In which case, he still wouldn't show up on camera,” Blue shot back. “Because he's in a vampire's body.”

“But is the body what makes a vampire invisible on film?” Gansey said, rubbing his thumb along his bottom lip. “I always thought it was because they had no soul. And if Ronan has a _werewolf_ soul—”

“Why would having no soul make you invisible on film?” Adam interrupted. “If that were the case, you wouldn't be able to see any inanimate object in pictures. Blue's right, it has to do with the body. Therefore, since Ronan has a vampire body, he would not show up on film.”

“Yes, interesting,” Gansey said, nodding and pointing at Adam. “We should test this.”

Ronan snorted. “I think we're overlooking one very important part of this experiment.”

Gansey blinked. “What's that?”

“I'm not actually a fucking vampire.”

Henry laughed loudly and Ronan shot him a look to shut up, glancing at Opal, who continued to sleep softly. Ronan gave Henry permission to continue, but Henry rolled his eyes.

“Yes, that is indeed a valid point, Lynch,” Gansey sighed. Now that Glendower was over, he seemed to be searching for any new supernatural quest to occupy his time—even the possibility that vampire-werewolf hybrids would not show up on film because they had no souls, or the possibility that his best friend could be one such vampire-werewolf hybrid, even though they'd known each other for years. “What a shame.”

Blue rolled her eyes and wrapped her hand around Gansey's neck, pulling him closer so she could kiss his cheek. Ronan pretended to take a picture of them, complete with the fake shutter noise, and then tossed the fake camera into the fire. Adam laughed.

“If you're all going to crash here for the night, there are blankets in the upstairs closet that you can help yourselves to. I'm not getting off this couch. You can all sleep on the floor.”

“Again, your hospitality is overwhelming, Lynch,” Henry said, pushing himself up to his feet and offering to get Blue and Gansey blankets. When he came back, he tossed one on Ronan's head. “You sick lovebirds can share.”

  
***

When Ronan woke, it took him a minute to figure out where he was, and why he had a muscle cramp all along his left side. He looked up and found Adam plastered against his arm, asleep and breathing deeply. There was black ink smudged across Adam's cheek, his hair standing up awkwardly from drying in its current position.

Opal found Ronan awake and put a finger to her lips. She pulled on Adam's arm without waking him and pushed seven beaded-bracelets onto his wrist, two more than she'd given Ronan. Though they were as mismatched as all the other bracelets she had made, Ronan noticed that Adam's were all brighter, vivid colors, while Ronan's were more subtle. Ronan smiled and carefully moved into a more comfortable position, allowing Adam to continue sleeping against him. When Opal was finished, she kissed Adam's hand and ran off to wake Matthew.

Ronan looked at Adam, unguarded and stress lines smooth as he slept. Ronan reached out and pushed the hair off of Adam's forehead, unable to resist lightly tracing the lines of his face before sighing— _fucking creepy, Lynch_ —and letting his hand drop. Adam stirred, but he exhaled again, pressed his face more securely against Ronan's arm and continued to sleep.

Ronan looked at the beaded bracelets on Adam's wrist and the leather bracelets on his own, side-by-side. Before his sleep-heavy thoughts could fade away, leaving only cold rationality that would have stopped this sort of behavior, he unknotted one of his leather bracelets—which left three, the most bare his wrist had been since he first put the straps on years ago—and slid the single band onto Adam's arm. He looked at the leather next to Opal's colorful bracelets, and with his cheeks feeling oddly warm, he decided it looked stupid. He moved to take it off before Adam woke up.

Adam's fingers caught Ronan's before he could pull the leather free. “Leave it,” Adam said sleepily, rubbing his face against Ronan's arm like a cat searching for comfort. “Can I keep it?”

Ronan's breathing stuttered. “Whatever, Parrish. If you want.”

Adam loosely wrapped his hand around Ronan's, matching leather bracelets and a thousand (really just seven) beaded ones pressing into Ronan's arm.

“Thanks. Love you.”

Ronan stopped breathing and looked at Adam, whose eyes were still closed, the lines on his face still smooth. Still half asleep. He didn't know what he was saying, and probably wouldn't remember this when he woke up. But he'd still said it, when his dreams were fresh, when rationality was squashed under sleep-heavy thoughts, when there was nothing but emotion and colors and light.

“Love you too, Parrish.”

He felt Adam's mouth smile against his arm. He inhaled deeply. “Take a fucking shower, Lynch. You smell like shit,” he muttered before his breathing deepened again. Asleep.

Ronan closed his eyes. His wrists and his heart felt oddly light, like he was a badly-drawn caricature of himself, two-dimensional and reduced to the simplest features that made him recognizable. Leather bracelets, inked lines on pale skin, fingers woven with a fair-haired boy. Loved by a bird and a hoofed-girl and a laughing brother. Still Ronan, but free from the restrains of real life and complicated actions and cold rationality. 

He was simple and light and whole.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up, a fic about Chainsaw.


	4. Blue Skies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Chainsaw gives the gift of herself because she is an amazing bird. (Fair warning, this is a really weird chapter because it's told in Chainsaw's POV and I normally hate anthropomorphic animal stories/POV's, but it's Chainsaw. And actually, I found myself relating to her anyway, probably because I wrote it. So. Take what you will from that.)

Chainsaw noticed something wrong with Kerah as soon as the Greywaren woke up that morning. The fair-feathered magician hadn't stayed over that night and Chainsaw wondered where the one called Adam had made his roost, if not here. Perhaps in the barn outside. Chainsaw would search for him later.

Chainsaw flew onto Kerah's shoulder and nipped at the soft flap of skin that dangled off the strange appendage on the side of his head. Kerah grunted and absently rubbed a claw against Chainsaw's feathers, frowning at the empty space in his nest.

“You're going to rip my ear off one day,” Kerah said. Chainsaw cawed happily.

Kerah got out of the nest and went to wake the goat-girl.

 _Sorem_ , Opal greeted, letting her arm out so that Chainsaw could land.

 _Sorem_ , Chainsaw answered. _Sister_.

“Kerah,” Chainsaw said solemnly, looking at the stooped-shouldered figure of Kerah. _Father_.

It was obvious he was upset, but Chainsaw didn't know what was wrong with him. Whenever Chainsaw felt like this, she was usually or tired, or hungry, or needed Kerah to get some pest out of her wings.

Perhaps that was the problem—a pest. Chainsaw flew to Kerah's shoulder and started pecking at the flat space where wings should be. Before she knew him, Kearn had tried to draw black wings on his back, but they weren't sufficient for flying, and that made Chainsaw sad because Kerah deserved to fly.

Kerah hissed and jostled Chainsaw off of him when she searched his back for pests, so she concluded there wasn't anything there, or else he wouldn't have pushed her off so quickly. She pecked at Kerah's long, thick claw-holders instead and scanned for leaves or pests stuck in the smooth pale skin, but there was nothing there either.

“Chainsaw, what is your problem?” Kerah growled. “Stop pecking me, or I'm going to throw you out the window.”

It was an empty threat since Kerah knew Chainsaw would just fly away.

Perhaps he was hungry then. Chainsaw, with Opal, went outside and searched for food. It wasn't particularly early, but Chainsaw found a big juicy worm anyway and plucked it out of its hole. It writhed in her beak, and Chainsaw had to restrain herself from eating the thing herself. _It's for Kerah,_ she reminded herself as the thing squirmed and squirmed, taunting her. _Because he is upset. Because he is hungry._

She perched on Kerah's shoulder and dropped the wriggling pink worm in his lap. He stared at it, picked it up with his dull claws and held it in front of her. “I'm not hungry, Chainsaw.”

She tried not to pout as Kerah lifted the worm to her face and let her eat it out of his claw like when she was still a chick and could fit inside his palm. She remembered those days fondly, but she also knew Kerah had been upset back then as well. Less obviously than he was now, but more generally. Like a drizzle that lasted months, only brief moments of sunshine when he wend exploring with the bright boy, or when he went flying with the dark boy, or when he was simply with the magician. Chainsaw had gotten so used to the sunshine recently that she almost forgot what one of Kerah's storms looked like. She hoped this time wasn't like that long drizzle, but Chainsaw didn't know how to change the weather.

 _Where's the magician?_ she wanted to ask him. The drizzle had lifted with every new day the magician had spent with them. _Where is he? The magician would know what's wrong with you._

Chainsaw and Opal played outside. The magician didn't come to the nest that day and Kerah curled up in his nest alone. Opal crept in at night, told Chainsaw to be quiet, and fell asleep beside him after stroking the too-short plumage on his head. In the morning before he woke, Opal left, and Kerah never knew she was there. Chainsaw didn't say anything.

The magician did not return for a long time. Kerah's mood got better with time, but he was still upset, like the pest was slowly burrowing into the soft flesh of his back, getting closer to his heart. Chainsaw realized that Kerah hadn't just lost the magician—he had also lost the others too: the bright boy with three lives and three names; the one with the vast blue energy, like the sea and the sky, and was accurately named; the one who could fly through space and time and who knew Kerah almost as well as Chainsaw did; and the one with sharp, black feathers on his head that rivalled even Chainsaw's plumage. It was one thing for the magician to be missing, but the rest were all gone too.

But there were also moments of sun despite the fog: when Kerah sat with Opal and held Chainsaw in his lap, he'd smile and laugh and not be upset, like how Chainsaw felt whenever she flew through the sky after being landlocked for days. And there were other times, when the sun-boy, Matthew, and the moon-man, Declan, would come over, and Kerah would be Kerah. And then there were other times, when Kerah would hold a black box in front of his face, and talk at the pictures there with a smile and a laugh and a growl of affection, and Chainsaw would flap happily around his head and nip at his ear.

“Tell Chainsaw I miss her.”

Chainsaw stopped flapping. She _knew_ that voice. The magician. But where was it coming from? Where was he? Why wasn't he here?

“She's been acting all clingy since you left. I swear to God, Parrish, she misses you more than I do.”

There was an indelicate caw/pig snort—the one she knew belonged to the magician, but Chainsaw still couldn't find him. Where was he? Was he hiding? Why wasn't he here?

“Are you sure she's not just trying to make your mopey-ass feel better? Give you something to do with yourself?”

Chainsaw was going to tear this place apart looking for him. Where was he?

“My ass is not mopey—Chainsaw, calm the fuck down! Ow, fuck! Jesus Christ, stop ripping up the couches—”

_Where was he?_

“Adam, I have to go. Chainsaw has lost her mind. I'll call you back when Opal is back from DC.”

After she had finished digging through the soft cushion log where Kerah sat, the magician had not emerged. Kerah looked even more upset than before, so Chainsaw stopped. She sat on his shoulder and rubbed her head into his neck. Kerah sighed, heavy like rain clouds above Chainsaw's wings. He rubbed the spot between her shoulders, trying to comfort her, but she was supposed to be comforting _him_.

“I miss him too, Chainsaw. So fucking much. But that doesn't mean we can start ripping up cushions. There are other ways to deal with it, you dumb shit.”

Chainsaw had no idea what he was talking about. She didn't _miss_ the magician. To “miss” meant to pass over something, like _missing_ the turn at the tree on her way home, or _missing_ the morning sun and the biggest worms. She didn't _miss_ the magician because in order to miss something, you had to know where it was in the first place. You couldn't miss a turn in the road if you didn't know which tree it curled around. Silly Kerah. He may have been her father, but Chainsaw knew more about flying. Her wings were real.

But she thought she understood what Kerah meant when he said he “missed” the magician because there was something wrong with Chainsaw too since the magician disappeared. He had left this void inside of her that she didn't understand. Like the magician was _missing_ _from_ her. She knew where the piece of her heart _should_ be, but she kept passing it over—missing it. She felt like the sky would never be blue again—but she knew better than to believe the lie her heart told her because everyday she looked outside and saw the sun draped in her elegant blue dress. If only Chainsaw could find the magician, the unexplainable void would be filled, and the invisible pest nestled in Kerah's back would be killed, and Opal would stop sneaking into Kerah's room at night. Chainsaw hated lying to him about it.

Chainsaw had misplaced the magician and tomorrow morning, she was going to get him back.

Chainsaw told Opal the plan, and though Sorem thought it was a bad idea, she promised not to tell Kerah where Chainsaw had gone. It was a favor returned for Chainsaw not telling Kerah about Opal sneaking into his room every night. Opal let Chainsaw outside before Kerah woke and there began her journey.

Chainsaw didn't quite know where she was going, but the energy in the ground told her to go north. Chainsaw had been born with dirt from the ground, but her heart was shaped with clouds from the skies. She flew higher and higher, farther and farther, until her wings were sore and she was dizzy from hunger. She rested at night and started again at sunrise, following the line in the ground that told her which way to fly, leading her straight towards the magician.

It took her a week, but she finally found the hum of energy that she had been flying towards. It was small, dampened from distance and smothered by the life forces of the other pale, featherless, earthbound birds around him, but she could still sense it. The magician's energy. She was nearly frantic with anxiety and excitement because she knew the magician was here. She had the opportunity to miss him now because she knew where he was.

Chainsaw found him sitting at a table with other Kerah-like birds, but none of them were Kerah. She felt a deep longing in her chest at the thought of him, so far away, similar to when she hadn't seen the sun in days.

The magician was looking at the other birds, but he wasn't really _looking_ —not like how he and Kerah looked at each other, like they were staring into the energy past their pale skins. No, the magician was merely looking, staring to pass the time instead of to commune with another bird. It made her feel distinctly lonesome and she longed for the comfort of Kerah and Sorem. Perhaps this was “missing” like how Kerah said it. Knowing that you were supposed to be somewhere else, _with someone else_ , but being unable to return until it was the right time.

Chainsaw flapped down to the magician, cawing and flapping around his head. The other birds around him seemed to be as excited as she was at their reunion because they all started cawing and flapping their claw-holders in the air like they wanted to join her in flight. But they couldn't because they were pitiful landlocked creatures.

The magician did not flap his slightly-less-pale claw-holders, but he held his claws out for Chainsaw to land, turning his back to the other birds. As if he was trying to shield her from their excited screams.

“Holy shit! Is that a crow? What the fuck is it doing?”

“Jesus Christ, Parrish, get back!”

“Chainsaw?” the magician said, drawing his face close to her as she sat in his claws. “Jesus Christ, Chainsaw, what are you doing here? Is Ronan okay?”

“Kerah!” she agreed. _RONAN_!

“Adam, what the fuck? Should you be touching that thing? What if it has like, bird flu or something?”

“What the fuck is going on? Are you, like, a bird whisperer? Dude, you should get your own show!”

“It's fine,” the magician said softly, rubbing her feathers that was not quite like Kerah did it, but good enough for now. “I know this bird.”

Chainsaw nipped his fingers affectionately. She tried not to look smug at the fact that the magician was _looking_ at her—not looking to pass the time, but how he looked at Kerah, seeing Chainsaw's energy. She tried not to look smug as the other birds behind him cawed and complained, and how the magician just ignored them because she was more important. She wasn't some random bird— _the magician knew her._

“Parrish, it's a fucking crow—”

Chainsaw squawked at the male bird behind the magician. She flapped her wings in disdain, opening them to her full potential until the male bird cowed and withdrew into the tiny worm that he was.

Chainsaw was a raven, not a crow.

“She's a raven,” the magician corrected on her behalf. Chainsaw pressed her head against his biggest claw in thanks. “Sorry, guys, I need to go return her to her owner. I'll see you later.”

Adam rushed away from the table and released Chainsaw to the air. He didn't pay attention to the angry squawks behind him, and again, Chainsaw tried not to be smug. She could feel his energy humming beneath her, significantly stronger than a minute ago when he had been staring at nothing, and getting stronger every moment.

“Chainsaw!” She circled lower and perched on his shoulder, nipping his ear. “Ow, fuck, I missed you too. Where is Ronan? Is he here?”

 _No, you silly bird_ , she told the energy line, which told the magician. _He's at home. Where you should be. Do you know how long I've been searching for you?_

“Jesus Christ, did you fly here by yourself? To find me?”

 _That's what I just said, you idiot!_ she said with affection.

“Ronan must be losing his mind. I'm going to call him—” The magician pulled out a black box from the blue plumage by his leg and put it to his ear. “Ronan, hi. Um, no, nothing. Just—yeah, no. I was eating lunch and I just wanted to know if you heard anything about Chainsaw. No, no reason, I was just worried about her. Okay. Tell me if you hear anything. K. Ronan, I—miss you.” The magician smiled, rubbed his bottom claw into the ground and stared into the air like he could see Kerah in front of him. “Okay. See you.”

The magician exhaled and Chainsaw rubbed her head against the soft flap of skin dangling from the appendage on his head. His earlobe wasn't as soft as Kerah's, but it was the color of sand and Chainsaw loved sand. The feathers on the magician's head always reminded her of a small robin's nest. She flew up there so she could perch in his feather nest just like she always did. She liked to pretend she was one of those pretentious little shits—the robins—who thought they were the better than all the other birds just because their eggs were the color of the sky.

The magician cawed happily and the skies in Chainsaw's heart turned blue. “You amazing creature,” he crooned and she ruffled her feathers contentedly as she sat in her robin's nest.

 _Take that, robins,_ Chainsaw thought. _The magician knows me._

The magician asked her to wait on top of the metal box that transported landlocked birds around while he got his things. Chainsaw was so happy and light, she could have flown to the heavens where the sun lived. She could have taken Kerah and Opal and the magician with her, gripped in her claws.

Once the magician was back, his grin was so wide Chainsaw thought there was something wrong with him. It couldn't be comfortable keeping your beak open to that width, like it was about to tear the skin around it. She pecked at his arm—perhaps he also had a pest burrowing into his skin—but the magician cawed and petted her on the head as he put her down beside him. The metal box rumbled awake.

Chainsaw realized, the more she thought about him, the more tiresome it became to call him “the magician.” The name was too long and it was incomplete. The magician was more than just a magician. Kerah was Kerah, Opal was Sorem, and Chainsaw decided that the magician would now be called Amicah. _Friend_.

“You really are something, Chainsaw,” Amicah said. “How pissed do you think Ronan is going to be that I didn't tell him about you right away?”

Chainsaw didn't presume to know what Kerah thought. He was a very strange bird.

“You're right. Very pissed. But I want to surprise him. Plus, I think he will be less angry at you for flying away if you managed to bring me back, too.”

She trusted that he was right. The magician always knew how to make Kerah feel better.

“I knew if I told him,” Amicah continued, “he would want to drive here himself because the BMW is faster, but I want to go home.”

Chainsaw let out a fervent caw. _Home_ , she agreed.

“I want to go home so badly,” he said quietly to himself, like a wish, or a prayer, or a dream slowly coming true.

 _We're going home_ , she comforted him. _We're going to see the sun again._

Chainsaw slept and cawed and sat on Amicah's shoulder as they land-travelled. She didn't know for how long the metal box carried them, and there were a few times when dark smoke rose from the front and Amicah had to stop and make the beast feel better, but it was a shorter time than Chainsaw had flown to meet him, so she was happy.

And soon enough, she could feel the energy of the Nest humming through her veins, ruffling her feathers. The magician's energy also hummed, like it was calling out to its kind. Like calling to like. Amicah, sensing the change in Chainsaw and likely in himself, lifted a hand and smoothly pet her feathers down. “Almost there, Hun.”

 _Hun_. She wondered if that meant Friend in their language. She accepted it anyway. The magician knew her, and if he thought she was a Hun, then she was a Hun.

As soon as Amicah opened the metal box, Chainsaw flew out into the open air and let out a joyous whoop. She was home. She had found the magician. She had brought him back. She would see her Sorem and her Kerah again.

“Chainsaw!” Kerah ran out of the Nest and she screamed his name in absolute glee at seeing his ferocious snarl. “You stupid fucking bird! Where the fuck were—” Kerah froze on the porch, providing a perfect opportunity for Chainsaw to perch on his shoulder. She nudged her head against his, and he immediately put his warm claws against her feathers. She preened against him. But he did not look at her, even as he took her off his shoulder and cradled her in his hands because he was too busy looking at the magician. Not just looking, but _looking_ at the magician's energy, humming and sparking and lighting on fire because he was now where he belonged. Like calling to like.

“Adam?”

“Surprise,” the magician said, breathless like he had just flown the entire way here instead of letting the metal box carry him. “Chainsaw came to get me. She flew all the way to my school and attacked me in the middle of the courtyard.”

Ronan's hands stiffened against Chainsaw's body and she nipped his fingers in annoyance. “Is that true, Chainsaw?”

 _The magician makes things better_ , she explained. _I had to get him back._

“Jesus Christ,” Kerah said as Sorem ran out of the Nest and launched herself at Amicah. They both let out happy caws and Chainsaw flew into the air, flying above their heads as they embraced. Like calling to like.

When Kerah called her back, she landed in his hands and allowed him to bring her up to his face. He rested his soft beak against her head and held her against the warm beat of his blood at his chest, like he did when she was a babe. She snuggled against him, like a pest trying to burrow itself into his skin.

“Thank you, you stupid fucking bird,” he said against her head. “You make everything better.”

Chainsaw nipped his fingers, pleased by his praise. He rubbed the feathers on her neck just the way she liked it. “But if you ever, _ever_ fly away from me again, I'm going to lose my shit for real. Adam has school—you can't just fly off and bring him home. This is a one-time thing. Do you understand?”

She bit his claw.

“Good.”

He smoothened out her feathers one last time before handing her to Sorem. Chainsaw nuzzled her head against her sister's small hands, thanking her for allowing Chainsaw to go.

 _You're welcome_ , Opal replied. _Come on, let's get out of here before this gets worse._

They both turned to look at Kerah and Amicah, who were holding each other so tightly, Chainsaw was reminded of the way the sun held the moon in place, or how the sky held the stars. Their beaks were doing a strange dance and Kerah was intentionally ruffling Amicah's perfect feather nest to the point that it seemed destructive, displacing all of the sticks that made up Chainsaw's favorite perch. Chainsaw felt mildly offended. Kerah had better put all of Amicah's feathers back the way she liked it.

 _Are they okay?_ Chainsaw asked.

 _No, they're disgusting_ , Opal replied, but she said it in the same way that Kerah said, “stupid fucking bird,” or how Amicah said, “you amazing creature.”

“Gross,” Opal hissed at them, the same way Chainsaw vehemently declared she was not a crow. Chainsaw took one look at Amicah's messed-up feathers and cawed in agreement.  

Opal carted Chainsaw away, into the Nest and sat on the soft cushion log with Chainsaw in her lap. She began to systematically comb out the bugs and dirt that had gotten caught in Chainsaw's feathers as she flew. It felt so nice. When Opal was finished, Chainsaw perched on her head and removed the leaves and sticks caught in Opal's white feathers. They crawled into Opal's nest together and Opal whispered to Chainsaw all the things that she missed while she was away. How many worms Opal had found, how many times she rode on the deer, how many dreams she had of the two of them, flying through the open blue skies.

The magician was found, Kerah was Kerah, Opal was Sorem, and Chainsaw was home. The skies, both outside the Nest and inside Chainsaw's heart, were clear, sparkling blue. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm pretty sure my Patronus is some sort of bird. I wasn't convinced before, but after writing this fic, I've confirmed that it definitely is. 
> 
> This is the last fic I have queued up, so it will probably be a while until the next update. Leaving comments about ideas will definitely be helpful, especially if any of you have specific Gangsey requests that are not Pynch. 
> 
> Lord help me, I am in far too deep. Writing fics from a bird's eye view (get it...bird's eye view...?)
> 
> I'm leaving now, sorry. Someone send help.


End file.
